


Cold Panic

by brightdreamer



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightdreamer/pseuds/brightdreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested: - Len getting panic attacks. Like, seriously. Seeing his dad again, thinking his sister might die, all that helplessness and loss of his precious control, thinking Barry died, thinking HE HAD TO KILL Barry, killing his dad… Panic attacks, nightmares, everything. And Barry being there to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by daughterofscotland on Tumblr! "Len getting panic attacks. Like, seriously. Seeing his dad again, thinking his sister might die, all that helplessness and loss of his precious control, thinking Barry died, thinking HE HAD TO KILL Barry, killing his dad… Panic attacks, nightmares, everything. And Barry being there to help him."
> 
> Written in about 2 hours, not proofread, all errors my own.

 

They had started while he was in Iron Heights. Waking in the middle of the night, cold sweat, heart pounding, chest too tight like he was fucking _dying_ , the nightmares replaying in vivid color in the dark of his cell. The head exploded right in front of him, but this time it wasn’t some low-life no-name tech scum, no, this time it was Lisa, her eyes wide with fear as she screamed and their dad laughed. The next time he’d watch again as Barry was shot right in front of him, his body jerking and falling to the floor, but this time a pool of blood spread out underneath him and the Flash didn’t miraculously appear moments later. The next night he watched himself pull the trigger, watched as the spear of ice slammed into the Flash’s heart, into _Barry’s_ heart, not his dad’s, and his dad clapped him on the shoulder and chuckled “well done, son.”

Night after night, terrors worse and worse, Leonard Snart woke in the claws of debilitating panic, biting his blanket or the pillow or his arm to keep from screaming. Sometimes he’d roll off the bed and crawl to the toilet in his cell to throw up, insides twisting and clenching, the purge almost a relief, a distraction. Other nights he’d simply curl on the thin mattress, feeling the springs beneath him, eyes open wide to stare into the dark, fighting off sleep and waiting for the muted morning light to chase away the demons.

Nothing improved once he got out, quickly as he’d promised; the cops honestly had little on him, Barry had done an excellent job of erasing his criminal record, and a breaking and entering charge was easily dismissed. His father’s death was of course, self-defense, verified by security cameras. For once, Len didn’t have to break out of prison. It was almost refreshing.

Still, the nightmares and panic didn’t cease even as he slept in his own, more comfortable bed. If anything, it was worse: now it would hit him at odd times, not even sleeping, just planning the next heist or looking at Lisa or holding the cold gun again. Suddenly that chest-crushing sensation would well up, and he couldn’t fucking _breathe_ , and no, Leonard fucking Snart didn’t cry, but he’d curl into a ball on the bathroom floor and lean his head on the cool edge of the tub and shake like he was going to fall apart.

He had to control this. He had to get back in the game. Step _up_ the game, that was always the solution. So the next job was impeccably planned, perfectly timed to the last second, everything was going to be just right.

And of course _he_ showed up. A breath of air, a streak of yellow lightning, and there was the Flash, appearing in front of him as though he knew exactly where he’d be. Just perfect, just as it should be. Len smirked, raised the cold gun… and suddenly he was back in that hallway, his father ordering him to shoot, to kill, and Barry standing in front of him, stalling for time, trusting that he wouldn’t.

His hand shook, gun lowering slightly as a strangled gasp forced its way out of his throat. He watched through tunneling vision as the Flash stepped forward, concern quickly wiping away irritation. “Snart? You okay?”

He couldn’t answer, could barely draw in another breath, his heart pounding and dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. No no no not _now_ , not in front of _him_! But suddenly a gloved hand was covering his own, lowering the gun, powering it down, and Barry’s face was much closer, worry clear even through Len’s rapidly blurring vision. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, he tried to pull away. “Nothing… nothing you can help,” he managed to choke out, but even that was almost too much. A gasping breath, then another, and the walls were closing in, everything was too tight, too small, he was going to be crushed and die here and his chest hurt and he was falling…

Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him up, holding him steady. “Getting you outta here,” he heard Barry murmur, then he was lifted, carried, wind whipping around him as scenery moved in a dizzy blur. In a blink, he found himself… where? Ah. The forest just outside town, though this time it was lit with soft afternoon light filtering through the trees. Right where Barry had taken him the first time they needed to talk. Len would have laughed at the irony of it if he weren’t struggling to breathe.

Barry set him carefully on the ground, leaning up against a larger tree, then knelt in front of him, cowl and mask now pushed back. Not the Flash helping him now, only Barry, concern and care written clearly on his face. “You’re not hurt, so what’s wrong? I’ll take you to a hospital if I gotta, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Len shook his head again, trying to focus on not giving in to the nausea pushing against the back of his throat. “Not hurt.” He was shaking, now, and he gripped his hands into fists to try to stop it, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“Then what?” Barry’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and though Len was tempted to shrug it off, the weight of it kept him grounded, kept him from falling back into that abyss.

“Dunno.” Well, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to brush Barry off, tell him he was fine, tell him to mind his own goddamn business, tell him he didn’t need saving, _again_ , but somehow the words didn’t fill his mouth the way he wanted. “Can’t s-stop it.” His teeth were chattering, as though he were freezing, ironically, though he was still wearing his furred parka.

“Okay… okay…” Barry seemed at a loss, but settled beside Len more fully on the ground, facing him, one hand coming up to cover his clenched fist, the other still resting on his shoulder. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be okay, yeah? Not gonna leave you alone like this.”

Len gasped out something that could almost be a laugh. “C-course not. You wouldn’t.” Not even Lisa had seen him in the grip of one of these… attacks. He’d managed to hide every time he felt one coming on, secluding himself in his room or bathroom until it subsided. But Barry… Barry never let him hide. Not ever.

Unconsciously, Len found himself leaning into Barry’s touch, just a little, his eyes falling half-closed. His fists unclenched, and he turned his hand slightly, gripping the tips of Barry’s fingers. The tight band across his chest was still holding him prisoner, and he drew in a struggling breath, then another, short and quick. “Can’t breathe…” he rasped. Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that, either.

He felt Barry shift beside him, the grip on his hand tightening. “Snart… Len. Lenny. Look at me.” Surprised at hearing his name from Barry, Len blinked his eyes open, struggling to focus. A breeze ruffled the leaves above them, sending a mosaic of light dancing across Barry’s face, and Len relaxed, just a bit. They weren’t in that building, in the hall, with his father. Barry wasn’t dying on the floor in front of him. He was here, breathing and alive and looking at him with concern in those green eyes. “Slow breaths, okay? With me. In and out. C’mon.”

Any other time, Len would have shaken him off. Any other time, he would have drawn away, pushed Barry aside, insisted he was fine, he didn’t need help, what the fuck did he know, anyway? But now… now he was holding tightly to Barry’s hand, locked in his gaze, breathing shakily in time with the other man.

“That’s it… there you go. In… out. In… out…” Barry smiled encouragement as Len’s breathing slowly evened out, his shaking gradually subsiding. The darkness receded from his vision, light filtering in, air cool around him.

Finally, Len released Barry’s hand, slumping back against the tree, feeling exhausted in the aftermath. For a long moment, he said nothing, looking away from Barry, unsure and ashamed of his weakness in front of his rival.

“Panic attack.”

“What?” Len looked sharply back at Barry, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s what it was, right? Panic attack… I used to get them after my mom…” Barry trailed off and shrugged, glancing away. “Yeah. Anyway, I know what it feels like.”

“Hn.” Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, Len looked away again, studying the way the light filtered through the leaves. After a long moment, he spoke again. “You’re the only one who’s seen.”

“For real?” Barry blinked in shock, pulling back to try to catch Len’s gaze. “I mean, I figured your sister would’a…”

“Don’t want her to see me like this,” Len cut him off, his voice low, rough. “She doesn’t need to know… she’s been through enough.” After everything their lowlife of a father had put them through, she didn’t need to know he was still tormenting Len even after his death.

“You shouldn’t be alone though…” Barry trailed off, the wheels obviously turning in his head.

Len shrugged. “Been dealing with it alone for long enough.”

Barry snorted. “Look’s like that’s working out for you.”

A glare. “You got a better idea?”

A pause, then Barry held his hand out. “Gimme your phone.”

“What?”

“Just do it, Snart, okay? I’m gonna regret this, I know.” Back to last names, it seemed.

Grudgingly, Len dug in his pocket and handed over his cell, and in a blur, Barry entered a number into it and handed it back. “There. Call or text next time you start feeling like this. I can be there in a flash.” He grinned, apparently proud of his own pun.

Len groaned. “That’s terrible.” Neither agreeing nor disagreeing to Barry’s suggestion, he pushed himself to his feet, breathing through the slight remaining dizziness. “So, _Flash_ , you gonna take us back to town now or you gonna leave me out here again?”

There was that grin again, bright as the sunshine dappling the forest floor. Then everything was a rush of air and speed again, strong arms holding him tight.


	2. Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry hadn't expected to get a phone call soon from Len, if at all. But then the call comes, and he doesn't quite know what to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW in this chapter for minor self-harm.
> 
> Not edited, all errors my own.

Barry hadn’t expected to hear from Snart soon, if at all. In fact, he’d half-expected the man to simply delete his number and forget the… incident had ever happened. Of course, he’d taken the liberty of copying Cold’s number into his own phone, though he had no idea what he’d do with it. Call him to check in? See how he was doing? No, Snart would only laugh at him, blow him off again. Better to wait and see; difficult for Barry, who always crashed headlong into the problem, running straight at it, wanting to fix it immediately. Somehow he had a feeling that wasn’t going to work this time.

Still, it was a shock when his cell rang at 3:37 am on a Tuesday two weeks later, the screen glowing far too bright in the dark room as the phone buzzed and vibrated on his nightstand. Jolted out of a sound sleep, Barry flailed and fumbled at the phone before managing to stab the answer button. “Hnngh? …’llo?”

Silence greeted him on the other end of the line, and Barry sat up in bed, awakening more fully as he tried to disentangle himself from blankets and sheets. He glanced down at the phone in his hand, noting the caller ID he’d programmed in: _Cold_. “Snart? Issat you?” Voice still slurred from sleep, he rubbed his eyes and pressed the phone to his ear.

Was it his imagination, or could he hear quiet, ragged breathing on the other end of the line? “Snart, I swear if you’ve just butt-dialed me…” Barry tried to joke, but his heart clenched tightly in his chest at the thought of what might be happening. Last time, Cold had barely been able to speak, and hadn’t articulated what was happening until Barry had been close. Touching him. “Hey. Uh… Len? You okay?” Barry bit his lip, nearly holding his breath as he waited for a response, _any_ response at all. If he went speeding over there and Snart had only accidentally called…

“...no…” It was barely a whisper, but clear enough that Barry was out of bed and flashing into his clothes in a whirlwind of movement.

“Okay. Just hang on, I’ll be right there.”

Before allowing Snart to “steal” the cold gun back, Cisco had taken the liberty of planting a more accurate tracking device inside it, a microchip that even the most careful dismantling wouldn’t find. Barry had never been more grateful than now for that tracking, as a quick run to S.T.A.R. Labs had him locating Snart’s address within moments. Seconds later, he was standing outside the house, nondescript on the outside, a picture of plain suburbia. A safe house of some sort? Barry decided quickly it didn’t matter, as he vibrated the lock open on the back door and slipped inside.

Apprehension climbed up Barry’s throat as he crept into the house. Was Snart alone here? What if he stumbled upon Lisa, or worse, Mick Rory? He quickly pushed those thoughts aside. None of that mattered, especially if Snart… _Len_ was feeling bad enough to call for help.

A soft glow radiated down the hall, the only light visible in the entire house. Barry zipped to the open door, then hesitated, his hand on the doorframe, momentarily unsure. Len was a huddled ball sitting at the head of the bed, his arms wrapped around his chest, knees pulled up and head bowed, eyes squeezed shut. He looked… smaller, somehow, without the hooded parka, clad only in a tank top and shorts, illuminated by the small lamp on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Hey,” Barry called out softly, moving into the room. “Bad night?”

A choked sort of sound was the only response, and Barry carefully sat on the edge of the bed, facing the other man, though he didn’t reach to touch him just yet. “Can’t sleep?”

Len huffed out a short breath, then drew in another, shakily, too quickly. “Not that.” His eyes finally opened, dark circles smudging underneath ice blue. “Don’t wanna sleep. Not again.”

Barry furrowed his brow a moment in confusion before relaxing in understanding. “Nightmares.” It wasn’t a question. His own had lasted long into his adulthood, dreams of red and yellow lightning, his mother screaming, the impossible thing that he’d seen that no one believed.

Len nodded shortly, his fingers moving in agitation over his forearm. “Every goddamn night. Gettin’ worse.” His voice trailed off, breaking slightly at the end, and Barry shifted closer, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Might help to talk about ‘em,” he suggested quietly.

“Don’t need your help,” Cold snapped almost immediately, as if by instinct, though he didn’t pull away from Barry’s touch.

Barry raised an eyebrow, drumming his fingertips lightly on the tense muscles of Len’s shoulder before rubbing his thumb in a small circle. Len’s skin was cool under his touch, slightly clammy with sweat. “You’re the one who called, y’know.”

“Hn.” Len took another few rapid breaths, his hands tensing on his own arms again, wrapping tighter around his chest, nails digging into the skin. “Did, didn’t I?” He looked away from Barry, staring at a blank spot on the wall, his gaze going distant.

“It’s all the bullshit with my… father,” he finally spoke, his voice rough and quieter than Barry had heard from him in some time. “Keep seeing him blow up that guy’s head. But then it’s not that guy, it’s Lise. Or you.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “Or he makes me kill you, or Lise. Or I gotta watch him beat my sister with a broken beer bottle again while I can’t do anything.” Len’s breath was coming faster now as the words poured out of him, a dam broken. “Or he shoots you again and you actually die rather’n just faking it. Or he’s coming after me and my sister and he’s dead and not dead and I can’t kill him again and I can’t _fucking do anything_ …!” His voice broke off as he curled over tighter, body shaking. Even in the dim light and shadows, Barry could see that he looked as though he might be sick.

“Hey… hey…” Momentarily at a loss, Barry moved again on the bed so he could wrap an arm around Len’s shoulders, holding him steady. His own heart ached at the pain in Len’s voice, and he wished he could do more to take it away. This man wasn’t his enemy right now, wasn’t Captain Cold, wasn’t anyone he was fighting against, this was only Len, someone who had been hurt for years by someone more terrible than many of the criminals that the Flash had put away. “He can’t hurt you anymore, or your sister. You’re safe, it’s okay.”

“I know that!” Len lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed and too bright, but no tears falling. “I fucking know that, but I can’t make these dreams stop! It’s fine to say that now but it doesn’t do me any good when I see it every time I try to sleep!” He was shifting against Barry, arms tense, hands unable to keep still. His breath was coming in ragged, painful-sounding gasps again, too fast, too harsh between his words.

“Okay… it’s okay…” Barry struggled to keep his own voice calm, rubbing his fingers in small circles over Len’s shoulder. His own anger at what the elder Snart had done to his children would wait for another time. “But you’re awake now, and nothing’s gonna happen here, yeah?” He took a deep breath, feeling Len shaking, still. “You’re gonna be okay. Deep breaths, remember? In… out…”

Len shuddered, but Barry could feel him at least attempt to breathe along with him. “There you go. That’s great.” He drew in slow, long breaths, pressed close enough to the other man that he could feel him breathe, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he attempted to bring Len into sync. “In… 2… 3… 4... out… 6… 7… 8...”

Len’s arms were still tense, hands gripping and clenching in a sporadic motion, throwing off his breathing. Reaching down, Barry moved to grasp his fingers, then frowned when he felt something more than just cold sweat under his fingertips. “What…?” Peering closer in the dim light, his eyes widened in shock as he realized that Len had scratched deep gouges into the skin of his arm with his fingernails, his agitated movements scraping away his own skin, leaving him bleeding. “Stop, stop, you’re hurting yourself,” he gasped, dropping his arm from around Len’s shoulder and turning to grab his hands with both of his own.

Len looked down, his expression blank, seemingly only just noticing the blood running down his skin. “Oh…” He shrugged, hands trembling in Barry’s grip, tugging against his hold. “Doesn’t hurt. Not really.”

“You’re _bleeding_ ,” Barry protested, fingers twining in Len’s, uncaring of the bright red smears of blood now on his own hands.

A soft puff of a humorless laugh, and Len leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed. “Least of my problems right now.”

Barry’s mouth set in a firm line. At least this one he could do something about. He might not be able to stop the nightmares from tormenting Len, but he could patch up his injuries, self-inflicted though they might be. “Hold on a sec…” He squeezed Len’s fingers once more, then called up his speed effortlessly, zipping through the house in a split second. As he’d expected, there was a fairly well-stocked first aid kit in the bathroom, and he had it in his hand and was sitting back on the bed before Len even had a chance to move.

“Okay, c’mere…” Taking Len’s scraped left arm carefully in his hand, Barry used an antiseptic wipe to clean the sticky, drying blood away, purposefully not using his speed for now. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he murmured, the scratches appearing less deep than he’d initially feared. “But still, don’t do this to yourself, huh?”

Len shrugged, but didn’t pull his arm away from Barry’s gentle hold. “I’m fine.”

“You’re _not_.” Barry shook his head, failing to keep a hint of frustration out of his voice as he covered the fingernail-wide scrapes with gauze pads. “Pretty obvious you’re not. You wouldn’t have called me if you were fine, so just stop saying that, okay?”

Len was quiet a moment, waiting until Barry had his arm wrapped in soft gauze and the supplies put away. “Okay. I’m not.” His eyes met Barry’s, cool blue and too bright. “I don’t know how to be.”

Setting the first aid kit aside, Barry folded his hands over his knee, not reaching out to take Len’s hand again. Now that Len seemed to be out of the worst of his panic, Barry wasn’t sure he’d want to be touched. And… why did he feel slightly disappointed by that thought? He pushed that aside. “I think… you’re on the right track,” he said slowly, not breaking Len’s intense gaze. “You’re letting someone help. Not trying to do everything on your own. Right?”

Len nodded slowly, his eyes still locked on Barry’s face. “You don’t let me hide,” he said cryptically, then took a deep breath and let it out, lips pursing slightly. “But I’m done with this little… therapy session for tonight. Got it?” There was a hint of his old smirk at the end, and Barry smiled back in relief.

“Got it.” He sat back, not realizing how close he’d been leaning in without touching Len. “So, what, you wanna go back to sleep now? Want me to leave?”

“Nah.” Len shifted, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, shoving the blankets--and Barry--out of the way. He stood and stretched, facing away from the bed, muscles in his back and shoulders tensing and causing his shirt to ride up slightly. “Don’t wanna sleep. I’ll watch some Netflix or something.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Barry. “You can stay. If you want. Or go, I don’t care.”

Barry smiled faintly as he stood as well, then zipped the first aid kit and trash into the bathroom before returning. “Don’t think you need to be alone tonight,” he replied, following Len into the main room of the house.

Soon, they were settled in on the couch, Len sprawled along one side, Barry with his feet propped up on the coffee table. Barry wasn’t really paying attention to what Len had chosen to watch, apparently some show about a guy breaking his brother out of prison, more intent on watching Len out of the corner of his eye. The other’s panic attack seemed to have dissipated nearly completely, now only visible in the occasional deeper, shaky breaths Len would take.

Len caught him looking, once, and nudged his leg with a bare foot. “Stop watching me like I’m gonna explode. I’m…” he caught himself and sighed with a wry smile. “I’m… better.”

“Yeah? Okay.” Barry leaned back against the cushions, forcing himself to relax. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been, waiting for Len to tip into panic again. Eventually, he began watching the show, drawn into the plot even though it was obviously late into the season. Tired, but not willing to let himself drift off, he concentrated on the show, occasionally asking Len questions about the plot and characters. As the early morning sun began to turn the sky grey outside the windows, Barry glanced over at Len, but his question died on his lips. Len was fast asleep, head back against the couch cushions, his face finally peaceful for the first time since Barry had arrived.

Smiling, Barry slid down further onto the couch, letting his own eyes fall closed. He wouldn’t leave, not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out longer than I expected! The rating will eventually go up as well, which is why I've changed it in the summary.
> 
> Comments are love!


	3. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len tries to hide again from Lisa... it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lisa refused to stay out of this chapter, so it went an entirely different different direction than planned!
> 
> Warning for non-graphic description of vomit.

Len was getting better. He had to be, right? At least that’s what he told himself, on the days when he’d manage to get through without the heart-pounding, nauseating panic digging its claws into him. He didn’t need any help, he’d be able to do this on his own. It was a fluke that he’d had to call Barry that one night.

Since their last job had been spoiled by his… breakdown (though he’d never tell the others that, he only said that the Flash had pulled him away from the site), he’d already started plans for the next. Everything was nearly back to normal, Lisa and Mick standing at the table, looking over the blueprints and plans, and Len finally started to relax, just a bit. This would be better, everything was going to be fine.

Then Lisa’s hair fell away from her shoulder as she leaned forward to point out something on the map, the neckline of her shirt slipping just enough to the side to show the edge of that old, puckered scar. Nothing Len hadn’t seen before, though Lisa tried to keep it hidden, most of the time. But this time, his breath caught and his stomach clenched, and suddenly he was twelve years old again, holding his little sister, pressing a towel to her bleeding shoulder while she shook with stifled sobs. He dodged broken glass and grabbed their shoes, sneaking her past their passed-out figure of a father on the couch, escaping to find their grandfather and lie again, “she fell”...

Lights dimmed and the room narrowed, folding in around him, and Len was staggering back, hands clammy and that horrible band of pressure wrapping around his chest again. Lisa’s concerned face hovered at the edge of his vision, but no, no, he couldn’t let her see, not like this, and he managed to turn, push away, rush to the bathroom and lock the door behind him. He looked down, there was blood on his hands, but he blinked and it was gone, and then his stomach lurched again and he barely made it to his knees by the toilet before he was losing everything he’d eaten that morning. Shaking, barely able to catch his breath between heaves, he heard a knock on the door and Lisa’s concerned voice asking if he was all right.

_ No, fuck, no, I’m not all right, I’m not, I’m not, can’t let her see, she can’t see, not this, not like this, not all right, no go away Lisa I’m not okay _

“Just… think it’s something I ate…” he managed to gasp out, hoping he sounded only sick, not as though he were about to break down completely. Gagging again, he spit out another mouthful of acid, his throat burning and eyes watering.

A pause from the other side of the door. “You need anything? I’ll stick around, Mick can head home…”

Len rested his head on his arm, trying to steady his voice enough to answer. Barry’s voice echoed in his mind, _breathe in… out… that’s good, you’re doing great…_ and he took a long, slow breath. “Nah, you can head out,” he said, proud that it didn’t shake too much.

It was quiet a moment outside, and Len slumped in relief, thinking that Lisa had actually left. He tensed again when there was another knock at the door, this time more insistent. “Not leaving you if you’re sick, Lenny.” There was that stubborn streak, and while Len usually liked that quality in his sister, right now he just wanted her away, not seeing him like this at all.

“Not sick,” he protested, though the way his stomach lurched again nearly betrayed him. _Breathe in… out…_ “Honestly I just… too much beer last night or somethin’, y’know?” He had to get her out, get her away… “I’ll be okay tomorrow, Lise, just need to sleep… sleep it off.” Fuck, his voice caught on that, he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight, but he hoped Lisa wouldn’t catch on.

There was a sigh from the other side of the closed door, loud enough that Len could hear it clearly. “Fine, whatever. Drink some water, huh?”

He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Sure. Seeya.” Proud that his voice didn’t shake, he listened to footsteps receding from the hall, then murmured voices and the sound of the front door closing. Good. She’d bought it.

Reaching up, he blindly flushed the toilet, then pushed himself back to lean against the cool tile wall. Each breath hurt, his chest tight and heart pounding, and fuck, he had to get over this! But the room was going dark again and he couldn’t breathe and his sister was hurt and his father was out there somewhere waiting going to get them it wasn’t safe…

_“Call me the next time you’re feeling like this…”_ This was bad. He couldn’t get it under control. Barry could… at least make it stop. Bring reality back. Be something that wasn’t spiraling into madness. Fumbling in his pockets, Len searched for his phone, then bit back a soft sound of despair as he saw with clarity his phone sitting on the table in the living room where he’d left it. Too far, too far, he couldn’t…

He had to. Staying here, he’d die, he was certain, he’d fall into the darkness and the crushing weight on his chest would kill his breath and his heart would stop and his father would have his revenge. Dizzy, shaking, he pushed himself to hands and knees, then dragged himself upright, hand on the sink, white-knuckled. The doorknob seemed miles away but his hand reached out and grasped it, turned it, and he stumbled out into the hall, he could do this, he could make it…

“God, you look like shit, Lenny.”

_Fuck_.

Staggering to the side, Len tried not to crash headlong into Lisa, who was leaning casually against the wall in the hallway. _She’s going to see gotta hide don’t let her don’t let her…_ He tried to step back, duck away again, but Lisa was already moving forward, concern written on her face, reaching out to catch his arm before he could jerk it away.

“Lenny. Hey… what’s wrong? C’mon…” His vision was tunneling again, and his breath was coming in short, harsh gasps, and he couldn’t fight against Lisa’s tug on him, her supporting arm around him, leading him out into the living room. Before he could protest further, he was lying on the couch, curled on his side, his head on a pillow across Lisa’s lap as she rubbed her hand over his back.

He wanted to pull away. He wanted to run, wanted to hide, wanted to keep her safe and out of his darkness. But Lisa was holding him firmly, making soft, worried noises that might have been words but Len couldn’t pull meaning together through the roaring sound in his ears. Shivering, he tried to focus on breathing, squeezing his eyes closed, letting himself fall into the black with the safety of someone there to catch him.

Finally, he dragged himself back, the sounds around him resolving into Lisa’s rambling. “...call an ambulance if I have to, swear to God, Lenny, if you’re dying or something, but they’ll just call the police and take you back to jail and you just got out again but don’t you dare try to tell me this is just a hangover or some bad food…”

“Lise… shut up…” Len managed to rasp, his throat dry and tight, still raw from stomach acid. Rolling onto his back, he focused on his sister’s worried face. “I’m okay.”

Lisa frowned down at him, her hand tightening on his shoulder. “You don’t look okay.”

Len rubbed his hand over his face, then pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. “Well, I will be in a minute.” He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk to her about any of this. She didn’t need to know… he was supposed to protect her.

“Lenny… c’mon.” Lisa sighed, then nudged him with her elbow. “Something’s been going on with you ever since you got out. You think I haven’t noticed? You run off all the time, lock yourself in your room, always want to be alone. What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.” A lie… of course. He’d never even told her exactly how their father’s end had come about. How he’d looked into his eyes, full of hate, and pulled the trigger, for her, for himself, for all of their pain.

“Lenny.” There was that stubborn streak again. Len groaned softly and dropped his head into his hands.

“Okay. Fine.” He coughed and grimaced, his throat still scratchy and mouth sour. “Just… go get me some water or something first, will ya?” There was a long pause, and Len turned his head slightly to see Lisa looking at him seriously, as though gauging whether he would run off again. “C’mon, sis, my mouth still tastes disgusting.” He needed the minute to gather his scattered thoughts.

Lisa studied his face a moment longer before finally nodding. “Stay right there.” She stood and moved into the kitchen, and Len heard the sound of water running and Lisa rummaging for a clean cup in the cabinet.

He should stay. He knew he should. He should stay and talk to his sister, tell her everything that had been going on, tell her about the nightmares and the panic, tell her about the way their father still haunted and tormented him. He should even tell her about Barry helping him, so she’d know how to do so, or who to call. He should stay.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

Before Lisa returned with the water, Len had grabbed his phone and his parka and was already out the door and onto his motorcycle.

He’d originally planned to head to Saints & Sinners, but Lisa knew that bar as well as he did. No matter, there were plenty of other dives in Central City. Finding one far enough away that Lisa wouldn’t look for him there was easy enough.

The smell of the bar oozed around him as soon as he stepped inside, beer and stale fry grease, while the dimness closed over him like a blanket of smoke. Len slid onto a stool at the far side of the bar and ordered a beer, then a pour of whiskey as an afterthought. His chest still felt tight and his insides shaky, maybe this would ease it a bit.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he took the first sip of whiskey, and he pulled it out, frowning at the text. **_Where the fuck did you go?_** Lisa’s angry message glowed at him. Sighing, he thumbed out a quick reply.

**_ I’ll be back later. Sorry. _ **

A minute passed, and Len could almost see Lisa pacing the room, furious, debating on whether to chase him down or leave him alone. She should know by now… ah, there was the return text.

**_ Whatever. Don’t get yourself killed. _ **

Good enough. She was pissed off, that was for certain, but she’d get over it, and more importantly, she wasn’t coming after him. Setting the phone down on the bar, Len downed another swallow of the whiskey, feeling the warmth travel down his throat and spread outward. He followed it with a mouthful of beer, the cold tingling on his tongue. The slight buzz was already good, though the weirdly tight feeling in his chest hadn’t gone away yet. Another drink might help. He finished off the whiskey and waved over the bartender to order another. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that drinking on a now-empty stomach was a bad idea, but eating anything sounded like a much worse idea at the moment.

Two beers and three whiskeys later, Len leaned his head on his hand, watching the icons and text swirl on his phone. Oh, he was quite drunk, that was for sure, but why didn’t he feel better? Everything still ached, his head was starting to hurt, and his breath kept catching in his throat. Why couldn’t he make it all stop?

Stabbing angrily at his phone, Len found himself bringing up his list of contacts, recently-called at the top. He paused, blinking and attempting to focus, honing in on the top name, the one he’d called during his nightmare attack only days ago…

**_ -Barry- _ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And sorry to leave it there, but next time we switch back to Barry's POV!


End file.
